


Date Night

by ExplosiveRanga



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Date Nights, Fluff, M/M, Parentlock, romantic dinner, worrying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExplosiveRanga/pseuds/ExplosiveRanga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Friday night; date night for most and this night, for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. But neither wants to be there, only wanting to please the other and they finally realise that they share some wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this fic is based off an RP I'm doing on twitter with @IneedACase and @JohnlocksJam and Chiara is an original character! Also, Chiara's room is a new room in Baker Street that they had built for their daughter so...just to clear that up. 
> 
> And it's crap because it's late and I'm tired but I needed to write so...Enjoy! :3

Friday night. Crazy night. A clear sky. A full moon, calling all the wild party goers, out for a night on the town, drinking and laughing, partying and cheering. 

Friday Night. Date night for married couples who call a babysitter for their children, get dolled up and go out for dinner and a movie, just to see if they can’t spark that old flame tonight.

Friday Night. Date night. Except for this couple, it hadn’t been date night for 3 years. But tonight they were going to Angelo’s for a quiet meal. It wasn’t to rekindle their love, or to try and get lucky tonight; no, their sex life was perfectly healthy, thank you very much. Despite having an active three year old girl and an eight year old boy running around the house, causing havoc just as their father’s did, the couple regularly managed to fit in a quickie or a heated snog here or there.

John Watson kissed Mrs Hudson’s cheek, Sherlock’s hand resting on the small of his back reassuringly though the taller man was just as tense as his lover.

“We’ll have our phone’s on the whole time so if they need anything—“

“I’ll call you.” Mrs H finished John’s sentence, smiling.

“Yes and it’s important that they’re in bed at 6:30 pm sharp as not to upset their –“ 

Mrs Hudson chuckled and petted Sherlock’s arm. “Of course dear. Now, you two go and have a nice time. We’ll give you a call if you’re not home before they go to bed.” 

The two said children were standing beside the landlady and babysitter for the night; Hamish holding his little sister’s hand and Chiara using one arm to cling to her Teddy while playing with Hamish’s fingers. John smiled gently and crouched down, pulling them both close for a hug.

“You two be good tonight okay?” He murmured into their necks and he felt them nod; he and Sherlock had good reason to worry about their children. Only days before Chiara had been born, they discovered that their surrogate was working with and for Jim Moriarty, their aim to kidnap John and Sherlock’s children. On top of that, Chiara was born with a weak heart and at just two days old, had received a heart transplant; she still took various medication and such to keep her healthy. 

Being away from their children meant not being there to physically protect them and that was what scared them both so much, what made Sherlock cling to his lover’s hand, their fingers entwined even as John embraced the kids.

Finally he stood and let Sherlock say his own goodbyes before the pair headed out the door, both determined not to turn back.

The whole reason for their date night was that Mrs Hudson had witnessed how stressed the boys were, always juggling their children and doctor’s appointments with work and cases and it was taking its toll on them. So she had offered to babysit the kids while they went to unwind together.

They walked through the crisp city, hands linked, neither speaking as they let the bustle and cacophony of noise surround them, encase them in warmth and familiarity. They approached ‘Angelo’s’ where the man himself greeted them with a friendly smile; the atmosphere helped them relax a little as Angelo led them up stairs to the rooftop where an intimate space was created for two, a small table arranged with a rose in the centre, tea light candles scattered around the rooftop, creating a pleasant glow.

John smiled softly as Sherlock seated him, his hand brushing along his lover’s neck in a seemingly accidental gesture and the Doctor hummed, leaning into it. Sherlock sat himself and kept his eyes on his partner as Angelo poured them a glass of cider each and took their dinner orders before leaving them be.

Truth be told, neither men wanted to be here, though that didn’t stop the pleasant silence descend around them. Sherlock let his foot rest against John’s, watching him as they waited; the reason he was here was for John. The man deserved some time out and, unlike his partner, was a social butterfly, a man who enjoyed interacting with others. Once upon a time, John’s ideal Friday night would have been beers at the pub with Greg, flirting with the many attractive ladies there and so the genius had assumed that going out of a Friday night was something that the doctor craved.

Oh how he was wrong. It seemed John’s reasoning for agreeing to this evening was to please Sherlock; he knew his lover despised being cooped up in their flat and it often resulted in both men being driven up the wall for some reason or another. Plus, he’d seen how Sherlock had been working cracking up to 3 cases a week. The man was exhausted and John believed that this would help him to relax. 

So, with both men anxious to please the other, the pair’s dinner arrived and they ate with minimal talking, hands brushing and feet moving against each other’s with affection though When silence filled the space between them, John would find himself glancing at his watch and phone that sat on the table beside his plate of Risotto. There were no messages, of course, but it didn’t hurt to make sure. Finally, he sighed and decided to let himself enjoy the night, trying to push his mind away from worries of their children.

::Sherlock::

Things were not going smoothly back at Baker Street. Hamish sat on the couch watching David Attenborough on television, his eyes locked on the screen as he helped himself to some freshly baked biscuits. The boy barely blinked as his sister darted in front of the TV, naked and her little body dripping from her bath. She giggled happily as she raced out of Mrs Hudson’s flat and up the stairs to her family’s, using her hands to help herself up the steps. A very amused, if not exasperated and slightly damp Mrs Hudson followed after.

“Chiara Adelaide Watson-Holmes.” She reprimanded which earned her another squeal as the three year old dove under the cover of her fathers’ bed, just a visible mound under the duvet. She stifled a giggle as Mrs Hudson approached and then pounced –as well as a 78 year old woman could-on the lump.

It took 20 more minutes until the girl was worn down enough that the Landlady managed to dress her and take her back down to her brother who shared his biscuits and as six-thirty rolled around, the girl was curled against her brother, snoring softly. Hamish, however frowned, staring at the door. Mrs Hudson approached from the kitchen, scooping up Chiara gently. 

“Bed time, dear.” She spoke in a whisper to Hamish and he frowned at her, shaking his head.

“They should be home now…I can’t sleep without them…” he said and his gaze slid back to the doorway.

::Sherlock::

An hour later, Sherlock and John returned, arms linked and looking slightly less tense than when they had left but neither appeared at peace.

Through their meals, both men fidgeted, eyes darting to watches and mobile phones, Sherlock jumping every time a child made a noise somewhere in the city surrounding them. Their parental worries were fuelled with the sound of sirens and as seven rolled around, both men were on the edges of their seats, picking at their dinners.

“Let’s go home.” John eventually stated, setting his cutlery aside. He smoothed down his jacket and glanced at his partner, preparing for disappointment to seep through Sherlock’s gaze, therefore surprised when he saw the other man sigh and nod eagerly.

“I can’t take it any longer. I only wish we could have stayed at home to watch the telly or something of the sort. Not that I didn’t enjoy your company…” Sherlock said quickly, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

John laughed a bit, downing the rest of his cider.

“Bloody hell. And here I thought you would prefer this…”

Sherlock’s brow raised and he stood, rounding the table to his flat mate. “John Hamish Watson, don’t you ever assume that I would rather something romantic and sentimental over spending time with you and our two perfect offspring.”

The doctor blushed and stood to press a kiss to his man’s mouth, standing on his toes to reach. They shared a sweet embrace, mouths moving slowly against each other’s, tasting and exploring before eventually pulling away.

“Love you.” John whispered, kissing his lover’s chin and Sherlock smiled in return, offering his hand. It took them twenty minutes to return, neither rushing and as they unlocked the front door, a flurry of dark curls bounded down the stairs to them, child arms circling the two men’s legs, Hamish burying his face in their thighs.

“Hal!” John said in surprise, hand touching the raven locks.

“Sorry Daddy but I needed to say good night!” He said as explanation and his fathers’ bent down, hugging him fondly. 

“All is forgiven, Hamish.” Sherlock said, voice gentle. “Are you ready for bed?” The little boy pulled back and grinned, nodding. He took his parents’ hands and yanked them upstairs, Mrs Hudson watching with a smile. Hamish climbed into his bed, hugging his Hedgehog plush toy to his chest and wriggling beneath the covers. This was a ritual of theirs; John slid next to Hamish, stroking his forehead as it rest against his collar bone and Sherlock sat at the end of the bed, book in hand. His creative array of voices and gestures had their sleepy son asleep in moments and both men smiled, taking turns to kiss the boy’s head.

Shortly after, they were in Chiara’s room, the walls illuminated by a small princess night light glowing by the bed. She rubbed her nose in her sleep, blonde hair draped over her precious face; Sherlock and John kissed her forehead, bidding her sweet dreams before they made their ways to the couch and flopped down with matching sighs.

Warm and familiar silence surrounded them and John leant into Sherlock, his smell and warm arms helping him to relax. This was their perfect date night; them and the children and as nice as their dinner was, nothing would ever beat this.


End file.
